


i'm weak and you were my medicine

by queenhomeslice



Series: Promnis One-Shots [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Promnis - Freeform, awkward dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: "All I care I can't stop my breathing inI'm weak and you were my medicineI won't stop til I am under your skin"Five Minutes to Midnight, Boys Like Girls
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Series: Promnis One-Shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840786
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	i'm weak and you were my medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own the rights to FF in any way.
> 
> _____  
> Rated M for mentions of masturbation, drinking, some cursing

Prompto paces around the modest quarters he’s just moved into, still surrounded by half unpacked boxes. It’s a studio apartment near the refugee district—rent is cheap, and he’s surrounded by the smells of the Galahdian food trucks, and he couldn’t ask for anything better. There’s a mainline subway that runs right through downtown—Prompto's timed it, he can get to the Citadel for Crownsguard training and duties in fifteen minutes. The guys are supposed to come help him clean and unpack today—it's Sunday, which is mostly a relaxed day free of duty. So far, Prompto’s only got his full bed frame and mattress set up, his minimalist desk with his laptop and camera set up; and his bathroom stuff unpacked. The walls are still an ugly beige—he's hoping he can save up for some paint in the coming months, because Pinterest is an overload of ideas and Prompto’s a creative, and ugly beige just won’t do. 

He’s pacing, looking at the box-filled room, wondering if he can find a free couch somewhere on Moogbook Marketplace; pacing, with his mom on the phone. 

“You’re sure you’re doing all right?” Mrs. Argentum says, a little softly. “Listen, I know we had to be away a lot during your childhood—but we do care about you, Prompto. If you’re not ready to be on your own, it’s okay. We can still help you. You can still come back home.” 

Prompto bites his lip and shakes his head. “No, Mom, it’s...it’s okay. I’m fine, really! I’m feeling good. I have my place, and Noct and the guys are gonna come over later to help me unpack. Are you still okay to meet me at the phone store tomorrow to get me on my own plan?” 

“Of course, sweetheart. As soon as I’m off of work, I’ll be there.” There’s a long pause. “Is it too early for me to ask about if you’re seeing anyone?” 

Prompto chokes and disguises it as a cough, blushing a deep red, thankful that he’s alone. The last time he was asked this question was about two months ago, and Prompto had hurriedly come up with some bullshit excuse that he was “talking” to someone. “I, uh--” 

“Honey, you know you can tell me anything.” 

It’s that kind, maternal voice that wraps itself around Prompto’s heart and squeezes out another lie. “His name is Ignis,” Prompto blurts, the first name that comes to mind. Well—that's _another_ lie. Ignis’ name is _always_ on Prompto’s mind, usually followed by lewd thoughts and long hours of stroking himself under the sheets. And who can blame him? Ignis is six feet of lean muscle, with legs ten miles long and sharp green eyes; and an accent that curls around you like steam from a mug of hot chocolate on a winter day. Prompto never had a chance. He fell hard and fast for his prince’s chamberlain a couple of years ago, and Prompto’s been simping ever since. Only in his wildest fantasies does Ignis give him the title of _boyfriend_ —but his mom sounds so proud right now, and Prompto doesn’t want to let her down. 

“Ignis,” he continues. “Uh, yeah. He and I—we're together. Like. In a romantic way.” 

“Oh, Prompto, you sound so happy. I’m thrilled. Once you’re all settled in the new place, why don’t you bring Ignis over for dinner? Your father and I will be home for the next couple of weeks, doing some remote work before leaving again. I’ll call you in a few days and we can set up a schedule.” 

Prompto tries to stumble out, “Wait, Mom, I...,” but his mother cuts him off. 

“I have to go, Prompto, the oven just went off and your father really doesn’t want burned meatloaf. I’ll text you tomorrow about the cell phone thing, okay? Love you, honey! Bye bye.” 

Prompto stares at his phone when his mother hangs up. He's utterly _fucked_. Prompto’s done a lot of stupid shit by his own standards, but this just takes the cake and blows out the candles, to boot. He stands there, face flushed and heart racing. He just told his mom that he and Ignis are _dating_ , when Prompto’s sure that Ignis still thinks of him as the scrappy commoner friend who stumbled into Noct’s orbit by pure happenstance. “Acquaintance” is the best title that Prompto knows he can hope for. Ignis is utterly perfect, and Prompto still has to say “lefty-loosey, righty-tighty" when twisting caps or screws. 

The sharp ring of his phone jolts him out of his panic; and because the gods are assholes, Ignis’ sculpted marble face lights up Prompto’s phone screen, accompanied by the instrumental version of the chocobo theme song from the childrens’ cartoons he still watches on Saturday mornings. Prompto swallows hard and swipes to answer. 

“Y’ello?” he says brightly, not wanting to cause Ignis any worry. “Hiya Igster!” 

“Good morning—erm, well. Afternoon, rather, as I see it is now noon.” ignis clears his throat. “Are you still expecting us today?” 

“If you guys are still free! If not, I totally get it. I can put on a photography podcast and unpack these boxes myself, haha. Don’t, uh. Don’t make exceptions for little ol’ me.” 

“That’s nonsense, Prompto. We said we’d help, and we will. We’re en route to you as we speak. I reviewed some of the Pinterest ideas that you sent me, and I took the liberty of picking up some paint and primer for your bland walls.” 

Prompto grabs his heart dramatically. “Oh, gosh, Iggy—you didn’t hafta do all of that! I was gonna get some paint after a few months on the job. Good ol’ military stipend, huh?” He laughs. 

“It was my pleasure,” says Ignis, voice low and firm; and wow, Prompto grabs the bar that separates his meager kitchen space and the rest of his 800 square foot home to keep from swooning. Forget a regular couch—Prompto needs a fainting couch if Ignis is gonna keep using that tone. “I know it’s a studio, so it’s rather small, but paint can make a world of difference. You deserve to live in a bright space that reflects who you are, Prompto,” Ignis continues. 

_Yep, need a fainting couch. Hey Rooms to Go, is that a thing you sell? Do you do military discounts?_ Prompto gulps, wondering if he should take a cold shower before the boys arrive. “Gosh Iggy, I’m really flattered. Uh. I can’t wait. I don’t have any rollers or tape or drop cloths or anything, though.” 

“Not to worry, darling. Gladio bought out half the paint department at Home Depot. We’ll turn your apartment into a home in no time.” 

_Darling_. Prompto squints his eyes shut and wonders how he’s going to tell Ignis that they need to be in a relationship. He decides to wait a few days, because if Ignis is gonna kick him to the curb, Prompto can at least take advantage of his generosity for a little longer, right? “I don’t know what to say, I, uh...” 

There’s a loud bang on the door, with Gladio’s voice on the other side. “How about you say, ‘Come on in, guys!’” 

Prompto yelps and hangs up, bolting to the door and flinging it open to see Noct and his retainers standing there, arms full of paint and supplies, plus a few long, flat boxes that look like some of those cubby cube shelves Target stocks up on whenever colleges start back up in the fall. His eyes shoot up to Ignis first, who’s in a short-sleeved shirt that shows off his long, toned arms, and Prompto wants to die. 

“We’re here,” says Ignis with a warm smile. 

“You sure are!” Prompto quips, tripping over his boots to move and let his friends enter. 

He’s so fucked. 

_______ 

Prompto finally musters up the courage to confront Ignis on Wednesday afternoon, after his training with Noctis. He’d done Citadel perimeter duty with a glaive all morning, and had lunch courtesy of the royal kitchen, and then he trained with Noctis for nearly four hours, learning to work off his warp-strike and how to cover his prince’s short-range short attacks with his own long-range firearms training. But Cor has faith in him, and so does Noctis—so by the end of it, he’s still riding that confident high, and he knows he can’t hide forever. 

“Heya, Iggy,” he says in the showers, trying not to stare at the handsome adviser. He knows he’s failing on an epic level, because Ignis has his hair down, and the towel knotted at his waist is hanging on by a hope and a prayer—and Prompto has never wanted to be water droplets so badly before. 

“Something on your mind, Prompto?” Ignis asks as he opens his locker and reaches for his deodorant. 

“Ha! Am I that super obvious? Oh man.” 

Ignis gives him a hint of a smile as he looks back over his shoulder. “Something like that.” 

Great, now Ignis is psychic, too. Just another notch in the belt of Hot Things Prompto Argentum Will Never Be. “Uh. Well I.” Prompto sighs in desperation. “Iggy you gotta help me! I was rambling to my mom about how, I'm in the Crownsguard now, I'm moved out, I'm successful! I even have my own cell phone plan, y’know! And it just kept going on and on, and well, my mom asked about a partner, and I was on such a roll and I didn't wanna disappoint her...so uh. I told them, _of course,_ I had a wonderful boyfriend!” He pauses to take a breath, suddenly winded. He can feel the heat creep up slowly from his bare feet to the tops of his ears. 

Ignis is just staring at him, face composed and neutral, honed over years of practice. He tilts his head. “Why, that’s lovely news, Prompto. I’m so happy for you. Who is this charming young man?” 

Prompto braces himself for catastrophic impact. “Uh,” he squeaks. “You?” 

There’s a long silence, and Prompto first instinct is to turn around and run, but this is _his_ mess, and he doesn’t wanna be a coward. 

Ignis finally blinks. “I see,” he says slowly. “First name that popped up, eh?” 

Prompto slaps his own forehead. “I’m _soooo_ sorry, man, you know I just—I panicked, and now she and my dad want me and my boyfriend! To come over for dinner! And I just...” Prompto groans. “Can you pretend for one night? Please please, I’ll do anything. You can totally fake break-up with me the next day, it’s fine, I just...” Now he looks down at the black tile floor of the locker room. “I just wanted them to be proud of me, and to be happy for me.” He blinks back up. “Please don’t be too mad. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do extra training. I’ll type council reports. I’ll do Noct’s grocery shopping. I’ll...” 

“Prompto.” Ignis holds up a hand, and Prompto’s jaw snaps shut. “Please don’t panic.” 

“But I...gods, Iggy, I’m even stupider than you thought, huh?” 

“You’re nothing of the sort.” 

Ignis calling Prompto not-stupid shouldn’t be on his list of Ignis Kinks, but hey, Prompto never claimed to have propriety. He gulps. “Okay,” he says. 

“I’ll pretend to be you partner, if that is what you wish.” 

Prompto wishes for a lot of things. This is as close to the real thing as he’s ever going to get, so he nods furiously. “Okay, wow, gosh, _okay_. Iggy, you’re a lifesaver. Seriously. They should just hang you off the side of a boat.” 

Ignis snorts at the joke. “I appreciate the sentiment, but there’s no need to be dramatic. When is this dinner?” 

Prompto shrugs. “I dunno, I guess—whenever you’re free?” 

Ignis digs in his duffel for his phone and taps away for a minute. “I am free on Friday after six pm. I am sure that Noctis will not miss me for one evening.” 

Prompto beams. “You know he’s gonna pig out on junk food and play games all night, right?” 

Ignis smirks. “At least he won’t have his partner in crime to cabal with. After all, darling—I’m finally going to meet your parents after all this time, aren’t I?” 

Prompto feels all the oxygen leave his body. “Yeah!” he says, silently praying for Ifrit to just set him on fire and end it all. “Uh, yeah, wow, ha...you really know how to get into character, huh?” _Damn, just like that, huh?_ It seems so easy. Prompto’s drowning in a sea of emotion, and Ignis is already calling him “darling.” 

But Ignis is as perceptive as ever. “Would you feel more comfortable if we practiced? Perhaps if we went on a couple of outings and acted as though we are truly dating, we would be able to fool your parents more easily.” 

Prompto dies a little more inside, but he nods. It's the only way. “Yeah, uh—yeah, we should probably, um. Do that.” 

“My pleasure, Prompto.” 

Prompto keeps himself from making a comment about _pleasure_ to Ignis and focuses on getting dressed. “Uh. So what time on Friday? I’ll go ahead and text mom.” 

“I’ll be free after six, so if you’ll allow me some time to get ready, I can pick you up and we can be at your house for seven pm?” 

“Yep, seven, okay!” Prompto fumbles his black tank top on and his boxers, and reaches for his phone to finally answer his mom. He feels his chest tighten at the message, and at the three little dots that signal her eager reply. It’s a string of heart-eye emojis, along with terms of endearment and rambling about how excited she is. He looks back at Ignis, who is still naked except for the towel. “It’s, uh. It’s a date.” 

“Wonderful. Now, where would you like to go this evening, as fake lovers?” 

Prompto’s heart shatters as he pulls up a list of cheap diners around Insomnia. He’s _so_ fucked. 

________ 

At 6:55, Ignis pulls Noct’s sleek sports car up to the curb in front of Prompto’s childhood home. He looks impeccable, as is the norm—a crisp black suit jacket and slacks, leather oxfords, purple coeurl-print shirt, silver driving gloves, hair spiked up in the front, silver skull pendant resting on his delicious collarbones. He’s a wet dream, and Prompto’s maybe the only person who loves his crush when he’s fully-dressed, but again, Prompto’s weird, and he has a gremlin brain, and his libido is through the roof. The past two days of casual “practice dates” have left him aching for more. He doesn’t want this to end. It’s so easy, so natural, to pretend to be Iggy’s partner. For one, Ignis is an utter gentleman—opening doors, pulling out chairs, doting on him and waiting on him hand and foot. _Is this how Noctis feels?_

Second, Ignis calling him _love_ and _darling_ and putting his arm around him and holding his hand have really wrecked Prompto’s emotions. He goes home and cries and jacks off to the phantom feeling of Iggy’s hand in his own. Ignis had even kissed him on the cheek to fool a particularly nosey old couple in the park, and Prompto had to grip Iggy’s hand like a vice so he wouldn’t faint. Prompto desperately needs that fainting couch. 

At any rate—Ignis is too wonderful, and this will all end tomorrow, and hopefully now his parents can quit asking long enough for a “breakup” to be viable the next time they speak at length. Prompto’s sweating in his crimson dress shirt and black slacks and skinny white skull-print tie. He still doesn’t have fancy shoes, but his black Vans are nice enough, so he went with that. He looks like the lead singer of an emo band, which is fine, he supposes—if Ignis didn’t look like a _GQ_ model in the damn driver’s seat. 

“Ready, darling?” 

Holy gods, Prompto will never tire of hearing that. It’s burned into his brain like a brand, and he never wants Ignis to take the fire-hot poker away. “Y-yeah,” Prompto breathes, attempting to quell his queasy stomach. 

“Are you certain?” 

Prompto turns to Ignis. “I’ve just, uh. Never taken anyone home before. Uh. Real, or...or fake.” 

Ignis smiles softly. “Don’t worry, love. I will be here. We’ll make it, don’t worry.” And Ignis is _so_ wonderful—he takes Prompto’s quivering hand and kisses the top of it with a quiet reverence, and Prompto has to bite back a moan. If he could bottle the electric current that Iggy’s lips send through his central nervous system, he could power all of Eos for an age. 

Prompto bites his lip and nods as Ignis lifts his head and makes eye contact. “Well, uh. We’d better get in there.” 

“Yes,” Ignis says, cutting the engine. “Allow me to get your door.” 

“Mrs. Argentum, your chicken cordon bleu is simply divine,” Ignis coos, dabbing the corners of his perfect mouth with the white linen napkin. 

Prompto’s adoptive mother flushes a little and takes a liberal sip of wine, shaking her head. “Oh, Ignis, you’re too much. It was my godmother’s recipe, but I’m still not sure I did it quite right.” 

Mr. Argentum pats her arm. “It’s fine, honey.” He smiles as he looks at Ignis. “So, Ignis—Prompto tells us that you’re the future adviser to his Highness? That’s quite a feat for someone so young.” 

Ignis beams. “For anyone else, the task might seem daunting—but I take a certain pleasure in the challenges that have been laid before me. I was tasked with caring for Noctis when I was very young, and I take that duty quite seriously. I have never wavered in my loyalty to the Crown Prince.” 

Mrs. Argentum puts her hand over her heart and sighs, wistful and starry-eyed. “Oh, Prompto, he’s wonderful, dear. He seems so good for you. Such dedication to the crown...” 

“...and dedication to my love, as well,” Ignis finishes smoothly, not missing a beat as he stretches an arm out and lays it atop Prompto’s shoulders, rubbing his fingers idly against Prompto’s dress shirt. 

It burns where Ignis is touching him, but Prompto only smiles and nods. “Don’t worry, Mom. Iggy, uh, takes great care of me.” 

“Now son,” says his father, and Prompto straightens a little and sips his wine too fast. “How long did you say you two have been going out? Are there any talks of...you know?” Mr. Argentum kind of gestures with his fork as he shovels in more smothered mashed potatoes. 

Prompto’s about to literally melt through the cedarwood dining room chair. “Talks of what, Dad?” he manages, face turning the color of his button-up. 

Mr. Argentum swallows and chases the potatoes with his own wine. “You know, Prom—marriage!” 

“Oh stop, honey, leave the kids alone. It’s a little too soon for all of that, don’t you think?” Mrs. Argentum swats at her husband’s arm and giggles. 

As fast as the blush had risen to his cheeks, Prompto feels the color drain from them. He’s certain that even his freckles are fading. He turns to Ignis with wide eyes. 

“Uh, no, we, uh--” 

“What my love means to say,” says Ignis coolly, “is that while the topic _has_ come up, we’ve both decided to wait until we’re a little older.” 

“I’m only twenty!” Prompto quips. “C’mon Dad, don’t pressure things like that.” 

“Sorry, sorry!” Mr. Argentum holds up his hands in defense. “I just want a son-in-law, okay? And maybe an adoptive grandchild.” 

Yep, commence the melting process. Prompto grunts noncommittally and focuses on gobbling down the rest of the dinner. 

“Mr. And Mrs. Argentum, it was truly a pleasure,” Ignis says gracefully once they’re out on the doorstep, shaking their hands. 

“Anytime, dear,” says Prompto’s mother. “And Prompto, don’t be a stranger! Just because you’re out on your own now and protecting the prince, don’t forget your dear old parents!” 

Prompto rolls his eyes. “I’m only twenty minutes away, Mom, c’mon. You're embarrassing me.” 

“I think it’s rather cute,” says Ignis with a smirk as he plays with the hairs on the back of Prompto’s neck. 

Prompto gets goosebumps and exhales slowly as he steps up to hug his parents. 

“Come back anytime! You’re always welcome!” says his father with a wave as Ignis opens the passenger door, letting Prompto plop onto the black leather seat. 

He knocks his head back against the headrest and puts both hands over his face. He hears Ignis slide in beside him and start the car. 

“Now, that was fairly painless, if I’m being truthful.” 

Prompto just groans. And now that the night is over, he can feel the emotions of the past three days—the past three _years_ —bubbling up inside of him like a volcano science fair project. 

“You’ll have to tell me if I met your expectations,” Ignis continues, flicking on the lights and fishing his gloves from his pocket. “I must admit that I’ve never fake-dated anyone, either.” 

Prompto breaks—before he can stop it, he feels his face scrunch up and get hot and tingly, and then he’s doubled over at the waist with his head in his hands, ugly-crying all over Noct’s borrowed Audi. 

“Prompto--” 

“I can’t do this anymore, Iggy,” Prompto sobs, cutting him off. “I just _can’t_.” 

“Darling, what is...” 

“Stop it!” Prompto sobs. “Stop calling me that. I can’t _take_ it. I can’t take you _pretending_ to be in love with me, when I’m _for real_ in love with you and I know you’re never gonna like me back!” Prompto sniffs hard and chokes out a few more sobs, closing in on himself and hugging his knees. He feels like a timid mouse hiding from a bird of prey. He should’ve never told Ignis to do this. He should’ve just owned up to his lie and disappointed his parents—now all he has to show for it is the angry scorn of his best friend’s adviser. 

The pregnant silence seems to drag on for eternity, but eventually, Prompto feels the tears run out. His dress shirt is sticky hot against his skin, his face is wet, and his nose is running all over the place. Gross. He tentatively lifts his head to look at Ignis. 

The other man hasn’t moved. They're still on the curb in front of his parents’ house. Ignis is looking at him like...well. Like Prompto’s just the biggest fuck-up that ever left a carbon footprint. 

“Prompto,” Ignis starts. 

“You don’t have to say anything, Iggy,” Prompto mutters. “Just take me home. I won’t bother you again.” 

“Quit interrupting me.” 

Prompto cowers and swallows hard. “S-sorry.” 

“You are truly _open-mouth, inse_ _rt foo_ _t_ ,” Ignis says softly. “But alas, I do find it rather endearing. You always mean what you say and say what you mean.” 

“Unless it’s lying to my parents about dating,” Prompto adds. 

Ignis gives him a pointed look, and Prompto puts his hand over his mouth. 

“Now,” says Ignis, clearing his throat, “I believe you mentioned something about being in love with me.” 

Prompto lowers his hand and nods. “I, uh. I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for being in love with me?” 

He barks out a laugh. “No, fuck. _Gods no_ , Iggy. I’m just sorry about telling you.” 

“Why?” 

“Why?” Prompto laughs again in disbelief. “Why? Because you’re like. Perfect? You’re perfect. And I still have to sing the alphabet to know what comes next most of the time.” he shakes his head. “You’re just way out of my league, man.” He sighs, shrugging. “But it was nice to know what it felt like for a couple of days.” 

“It was wonderful, truly. And what if I said that I didn’t want it to end?” 

Prompto blinks and tilts his head. “You wanna keep fake dating?” 

Ignis opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again. “Love,” he says. “I would prefer to real date, if you’d have me.” 

That’s it, that’s _it_. Prompto’s died and gone to an alternate universe. “Uh,” says Prompto’s eloquent mind. “Real date?” 

“Yes,” says Ignis softly. “I’ll admit that I accepted to aid you in your little scheme for purely selfish reasons. I, too, wanted the experience of ‘dating’ you for a little while. But after your revelation, well. It seems I am not the only one who has underlying desires.” 

“Real date,” Prompto says again. “With, uh. With me?” 

“With you,” Ignis confirms. He digs his purple handkerchief out of his breast pocket and shakes it open, wiping Prompto’s sweaty, wet, snotty face, folding it back up and placing it in the cupholder. He then reaches to cup Prompto’s slender jaw, and the blond can’t help but fall into Ignis’ warm, gloved hand like the softest down pillow. 

“Ignis,” Prompto breathes. 

“Darling,” Ignis tries again, leaning closer. 

Prompto’s eyes snap open. “Holy shit. Are you gonna kiss me?” 

“Would you like me to kiss you?” 

“I wanted you to kiss me a million years ago, dude.” 

Ignis laughs. “I shall attempt to make up for lost time, then.” 

The next time that Mrs. Argentum calls Prompto about dinner at the house, Prompto wholeheartedly accepts. He hangs up the phone and melts into another kiss with Ignis Scientia, his totally not-fake boyfriend. 


End file.
